Rain and Tears
by aeliuned
Summary: Because rain and tears go hand in hand. This is strictly Rose/Scorpius, unlike the earlier incarnation of this collection of drabbles, one/two/etc.-shots and vignettes.
1. Almost

A/N: obviously, RW/SM. A lot different from _Addiction._

* * *

It's almost too easy, pretending. The nodding, the fervent yes's, the scornful laughter. It's always too easy to agree with the more-than-friend-but-not-really about whatever—after all, what they would say if you _didn't—_and they smile, relieved that you say so, and proud that you do. Their eyes are blinded by what they want, and they themselves pretend to not see.

Then you try to take back your own lies as he enters the room. Make some excuses, feel some guilt, but all of it washes away at the feeling of his gaze too near you.

It's always almost _too_ easy to pretend.

Almost _too_ easy to pretend that you don't notice the exact shade of his eyes, or the way the left side of his mouth quirks just slightly above the other when he smiles.

Almost too easy to pretend you don't see the hurt, the anger, and the goddamned _betrayal_ in his eyes, even as he stops in the middle of the frickin' hall to stare at you with burning accusation in his gaze. And you glare at him back, your heart screaming and your heart gaining yet another fracture as you pretend (too easily, of course) that you hate him, like the rest of everyone.

At that moment you almost turn around to say you're sorry. But because it's always too easy to pretend, you don't.

Almost.

A/N: sorry I'm re-using this, but...


	2. Mirror Image

A/N: again, I'm re-using this one...XD

* * *

When she married him, he had not expected it. He should have, but somehow he hadn't. Or maybe he _had_ seen it coming, just not so soon.

For some unknown reason he had received an invitation to her wedding. He had briefly considered not attending, but that wasn't going to happen--it simply wasn't. He loved her too much to go _that_ low.

He had prepared for it with painstaking care, and hated himself for it. Even he didn't completely understand _why_ he had bothered to. Perhaps he loved her enough to want her to be happy. Likelier was that he had done it because of his pride: he wanted her to know that her getting married didn't matter to him at all--wanted her to see exactly what she was giving up.

So he had gone.

She had looked stunning, and with a heartwrenching pang, he realized that she looked happier than he had ever seen her before. He had greeted her with a kiss on her cheek (it lingered for almost too long) and she had hugged him back (pretend she doesn't hear just how hard his heart is beating).

It had been awkward, of course, awkward as hell, but nearly all of it had been under the surface. Her smile, though hesitant--and he could've sworn it was a little sad, too--had been warm and wide. He knew his eyes, though crinkled, were creased in a smile that was just a _little_ bit fake--maybe even cold. And behind his I'm-glad-you're-happy facade, his mind was whirling with questions.

Is he kind? Is he sympathetic? Is he patient? Is he smart? Is he a good dancer? I know you love dancing. Does he know your favorite color is red because it's the color of roses? Does he know you're a romantic? Does he know you like chocolate _only because_ it reminds you of me?

_Does he love you? Truly, does he? And do you love him?_

He wanted nothing more that her to answer "no" to both--heck, he'd settle for just the last one--because then he could reply (in an all-too satisfied voice), "Good. I didn't think so."

She walks down the aisle. Her eyes are subtly(?) searching for someone in the rows of seated people. But he's standing in the back of the room, shadowed, but watching with an intensity that outdoes by a million times the intensity of her mother's eyes. He is careful to avert his gaze from the groom, and somehow wins the battle against the urge to look.

Right before they complete their vows, he quietly assumes a seat. Her eyes are desperate now, and finally latch onto his (is that relief in her eyes?).

It is then that he sees _that_ man--_her _man--for the first time, and he almost drops dead onto the floor.

_He_ has the same color hair, eyes, build, and is nearly the same height. He suddenly notices how similar their voices are (though naturally _that _man's voice is much more humble).

As she and he lock eyes one more time (no, that can't be regret), his own gaze full of shocked understanding, he realizes why she had--has--chosen _this _man.

They kiss; he looks away.

At the reception she approaches him with her husband. Her eyes are only a _little_ wet with unshed tears (he thinks he knows why, but everyone else is none the wiser) as she introduces her man to him. He acknowledges the newlywed politely, seeing in the man's eyes what he had felt only moments before.

As she feigns physical discomfort--after all, how could she _not_ be uncomfortable emotionally?--he subtly follows here to a secluded corner.

"I'm sorry," she whispers as their lips meet (_not_ for the last time--God, please, no).

"You had no choice." he mumbles, turning away.

She smiles at him with heartwrenching gratitude, thankful for the excuse he has just given her.

"Good-bye, love," he says, nodding slightly, and leaves.

* * *

A/N: I tried to make this one as angsty as I could, but I think I only succeeded in a little confusion...


End file.
